


Scorching Feathers

by GreenCat42



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale gets his wings burned, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a tiny bit of blood warning, and Crowley takes care of him, by an idiot demon who doesn't know who he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenCat42/pseuds/GreenCat42
Summary: When Aziraphale is attacked by a lesser demon, he tries to hide his burnt wings from Crowley, which doesn't work. The demon goes on immediate care mode to make sure his angel heals.





	Scorching Feathers

After the Not-magedon, Aziraphale wanted to live more. He wanted to get out of his bookshop and maybe walk around London a bit. See more of the parks. Maybe it was the threat of the Earth being destroyed, or maybe what Crowley told him when they switched back; Aziraphale wasn’t sure. 

Whatever it was, he decided to stroll his way through some of the nicer parts of London humming a hymn under his breath. The sun was shining and Aziraphale decided he was going to go back to that little cafe he spotted at the beginning of his walk. Although Crowley was stopping by later for lunch, he was always peckish and the smells wafting from the open doors enticed him. He circled the block, admiring the trees and maybe performing a few minor miracles to get the trees to grow a bit better or help out people as he passed. It was in his nature after all. 

Aziraphale only regretted cutting through an alleyway to get to the cafe when the earth shifted and a demon pushed their way through the dirt. The demon was one that Aziraphale didn’t recognize, greasy black hair pulled back into a low ponytail and black eyes. Ripped and torn clothes hung on their skinny figure and a brief thought flitted through Aziraphale’s mind at the exact wrong moment.  _ ‘Do they not feed any of the demons down there?’  _

“Angel,” they hissed squinting black eyes at Aziraphale.

“Oh don’t mind me dear boy-uh lady-person?” Aziraphale stumbled through. “Could I just uhm get passed you, I’m just heading to a cafe unless you would like something to eat?”

The demon stared at Aziraphale, blinking black eyes in confusion, then they hissed and twin flames of hellfire burst into their palms. “Oh, well then.”

Aziraphale didn’t have anything to protect himself with. He shrank back from the flames, fear settling in his belly.  _ ‘I wish Crowley were here,’ _ he thought briefly. 

“Can-can we talk about this?”

“No, at least I’ll be promoted for killing an angel,” they hissed a very unnerving smile curling on their lips.

Aziraphale swallowed hard and stood up straighter. He was an angel, he was a principality, and guardian of the eastern gate and he wasn’t going to be afraid. “You dare talk to me like this?” Aziraphale snapped.

The demon winced when he heard the angelic tones of Aziraphale’s voice. “Who are you?” 

“I am Aziraphale, Principality, and Guardian of the Eastern Gate and you will be sorry!” 

He could feel his body shift away from his human form, eyes beginning to pop up along his arms, golden light emitting from his head. The demon squeaked, blinking at the bright light. “I-I didn’t know, I-I just got here!”

Aziraphale didn’t realize his wings had manifested until they curled around him to protect him from the blasts of hellfire the demon had shot at him. The pain made him hiss, bright and angry along his wings. The smell of burnt feathers filled his nostrils making him choke. Aziraphale needed to get away and with a soft poof, he vanished leaving a very confused and scared demon behind. 

The miracle took a lot out of him, transporting that far made his legs shake and he fell to his knees. Aziraphale waved his fingers and the door to his shop locked. What Aziraphale needed was rest, and he needed to check the damage of his poor wings. Half burnt feathers fell to the ground as he shifted, wincing when he tried to move them. It had been a while since he’d manifested his wings, the tips of them dragging a bit on the ground as he slowly got to his knees and then to his feet. Aziraphale wasn’t going to let a little pain get in his way, and he stumbled towards his kitchen trying to ignore the pain that each step made as his wings moved. All Aziraphale wanted now was a cup of cocoa to help calm the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “How do humans deal with this nonsense,” he muttered. 

Aziraphale knew he needed to fix his wings. He couldn’t simply miracle them better, hellfire damaged things too much. It was the same with holy water and demons. It was one of the first things he learned after the fall of Lucifer and during the war. 

The door to his shop jingled and Aziraphale panicked. He still had his wings out, but he remembered he locked the door. The rattling kept going for a few moments, then the door slammed open. “Angel what the heaven is going on?” a familiar voice growled. “Locking me out!”

Aziraphale shrank back, he didn’t want Crowley to see his wings, not at this state. “Where are you, angel?” 

In his mild panic, Aziraphale bumped into one of the shelves with his wings, pain making him hiss and he stumbled. “Angel?” 

Crowley finally made his way through the bookshop only to see Aziraphale leaning heavily onto the back of a chair his wings drooping, more burnt feathers fluttering to the ground. “What-what happened?” he gasped out hurrying over.

Gentle hands-Crowley was always gentle with him-helped him up. Aziraphale didn’t want to admit he was attacked, but he didn’t want to lie. “Oh I just had a little accident, that’s all.”

He chuckled weakly, trying not to shift his burnt wings much. “Accident?” Crowley grumbled sliding an arm around his waist. “Bullshit angel.”

Aziraphale gratefully leaned on the demon. “I uhm well, you see I was on my way to a lovely little cafe nearby-the smells were simply divine-and I might have cut through an alleyway. It was a shortcut, I promise-and well, a demon appeared.”

A low hiss slipped through Crowley’s lips, he had his sunglasses on as usual so Aziraphale couldn’t read his eyes. “He well-he didn’t know who I was and attacked me. I’m fine, perfectly tickety boo. Just got my wings a bit.”

“You were attacked Aziraphale,” Crowley bit out, his arm tightening a bit around Aziraphale’s waist. “What did it do to you?”

“Justthrewabitofhellfireatme,” he muttered back.

“What was that?” 

“They threw some hellfire at me.”

“I’m gonna kill it. That demon is dead meat.” 

“Please, leave it be. I just want to rest, please Crowley.”

Crowley’s jaw unclenched a bit, his shoulders losing their stiffness. He turned his face away for a moment. “I’m sorry angel, let’s get you cleaned up. Where were you going?” 

“The kitchen, I wanted some cocoa.”

The demon sighed, shaking his head a bit. “Of course. Let me.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and a steaming mug of cocoa appeared just the way Aziraphale liked and with plenty of mini marshmallows on top. “Oh thank you.”

Red tinted the demon’s cheeks and he grumbled under his breath, something about how he didn’t want Aziraphale to pout about not having his cocoa. “C’mon, angel.”

He picked up the cocoa, taking a sip and sighing. “Alright.”

Crowley helped him upstairs, careful of his wings. Once they reached his flat, Crowley maneuvered them towards the bathroom. It was barely used, except for the times Aziraphale wanted to take a bubble bath. The tub took up most of the bathroom, a vanity taking up the rest. Aziraphale sank down onto the chair in front of his vanity only now seeing the damage in the mirror. His usual pristine white wings were in complete disarray. Soot and burnt feathers covered his wings and his cheek had a smear of soot. Crowley snapped his fingers again and cleaning solution and bandages appeared next to the ridiculous amount of bottles of bubble bath and bath bombs that crowded the vanity. “Honestly angel, what do you use all these for?” Crowley asked reaching for one.

“I like to take bubble baths, very soothing. You should try one.”

Crowley hummed and unscrewed the cap to the antiseptic solution. “This is going to sting, but I can’t heal your wings and you can’t either.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said wings drooping.

Cleaning his wings was painful and more burnt feathers littered the floor. “I’m going to have to sweep all these up,” he said. “Can’t have angel feathers in the human world.”

“I’ll do it, you need to rest.” 

The cup of cocoa Aziraphale kept cradled in his hands stayed hot and was never empty. He had his suspicions that Crowley was behind it. He didn’t mind, it kept his mind off the pain. “You’ll have to keep your wings out for a few days while they heal.”

Normally Aziraphale kept them in a pocket dimension, out of sight from mortal’s eyes. He assumed Crowley did the same. “Your customers are just going to have to deal with a few days of a closed shop.”

“That’s fine, I don’t even like selling books anyways.”

Crowley shook his head, a sly grin curling on his lips. “It’s one of your bastard traits and I love it.”

Aziraphale felt stronger now after his wings had been cleaned up and bandaged. It was nice to see his wings clean again. Crowley had gently washed off the soot, the burnt feathers would just have to grow out and heal. “C’mon, you need to sleep.”

“I don’t sleep, Crowley.”

“It’s nice and you’ll heal faster than if you putter around your bookshop knocking your wings into things,” Crowley retorted. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale sighed, he didn’t want to fight about sleep with Crowley, not right now.

He got to his feet, his wings shifting and feeling a bit heavy from the bandages. Crowley hovered just a bit, following him out of the bathroom and into the tiny hallway. His flat upstairs really wasn’t used, except for storage. He had a bedroom but never used it. “More books?” Crowley said when he opened the door to his bedroom.

There were piles of books everywhere and even on his bed. It was pretty plain, a bed, dresser, and a nightstand; none that he actually used. It was for show and mainly to keep up appearances as a human. “I don’t use my flat.”

“Honestly angel. I figured you’d be a lot neater,” Crowley grumbled. “You’re an angel after all.”

Another miracle later and his bed was clear, fresh linens on the bed. “C’mon angel, time to rest.”

Aziraphale waved his hand and light blue PJs replaced his vest and button-down. He was tired, maybe a nap would do him better. His bed was more comfortable than it looked, sinking down as he got in. A blanket settled over him, careful of his wings. “Crowley-can you-can you stay?” 

A tiny bit of fear had stayed coiled inside him, the thought of the demon finding him. He didn’t want to be alone and he felt safer with Crowley. “Of course,” Crowley replied, his voice softer than normal. 

His wings took up a lot of the bed, burnt feathers and bandages marring the normal bright white. Crowley settled in a chair that was suddenly clear of books and Aziraphale smiled letting himself drift off to sleep. 

+++

Crowley waited just until Aziraphale drifted off. Worry kept at bay by the fact that he didn’t want the angel to see just how frazzled he was, was let go. Crowley tried not to shake his leg, then got up and paced back and forth. The image of Aziraphale holding onto a chair, face pale, soot covering him and his wings burnt was melded to his memory. Crowley wanted to find the demon who did this to him and make it suffer. What he wanted didn’t matter, Aziraphale wanted him here. He was going to protect his angel at all costs. 

He continued to pace back and forth while the angel slept. There wasn’t much he could do and he didn’t want to just sit and watch him sleep, so Crowley organized. It kept his hands busy and he moved through the room organizing the piles of books. They had a general organization Crowley was familiar with being around Aziraphale so much the past eleven years, but it was still nonsense. “How do you find anything, angel,” he muttered picking up a first edition copy of an Oscar Wilde book after finding it in a pile of Jane Austen books.

Time went by, but Aziraphale stirred wincing a bit when he moved his wings. Sitting up, he instinctively flexed his wings and hissed out in pain. “Angel, are you ok?” Crowley asked setting the book down and hurrying over to him.

“Mmmfine, just forgot and tried to stretch my wings,” Aziraphale said rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Crowley tried not to think of how adorable it was seeing the angel’s blonde hair tousled from sleep or how soft he looked. “Do they still hurt?”

“Yeah, too bad I can’t use pain killers.”

One thing about being an ethereal being, you could feel pain, but human medicine didn’t do anything to help it. Crowley thought it was downright stupid, poor design flaw in his opinion. Aziraphale stood up and carefully stretched, his wings flaring out only for him to wince and stop mid-stretch. Crowley’s hands itched to comfort him, but he’d been too soft earlier. Seeing the angel in pain was too much for him to deal with. “Why don’t I go get you something to eat?” Crowley suggested.

They had missed their lunch date and Crowley knew how much Aziraphale liked eating. Plus he could try and track that demon without worrying his angel. “Yes, that sounds good. I am feeling a bit peckish.”

“Some crepes from that little French place around the corner you love?” 

“Oh yes please.”

“Alright, I’ll be back later, you rest, read some of these books you have up here, I bet they haven’t been opened in decades.”

“They’re first editions Crowley, of course they’re not being read,” Aziraphale replied primly, but he smiled. “Thank you.”

Crowley ignored the skip in his heartbeat-stupid human thing-and turned on his heel and hurried out of the flat and down the stairs. 

He never told Aziraphale, but he could always sense where he was, it was like a second sight, but it drained his powers if he used it too hard. This was an exception, he wanted to find the demon that hurt his angel. Then, he’d get those crepes, it wouldn’t take long after all. 

The trek his angel took was winding and stopped several times, but finally he found the alleyway and the stench of demon. Flashes of soot from the hellfire scorched the wall nearby. He grinned, this was going to be easy. 

The demon in question was a short two blocks away attempting to tempt a group of teenagers to loot a shop. When it saw Crowley, its eyes widened and its fingers shook. “C-Crowley, what an honor. Hail Satan,” it stammered.

The group of teenagers focused on him and he glared. “Shoo,” he growled.

They scattered in all directions. Settling one hand on his hip, Crowley stared down the demon and snapped his fingers. “You didn’t happen to meet an angel earlier today?” he asked.

“Wh-what if I d-did.”

The speed that Crowley moved was very snake-like and he struck, grabbing the front of the demon’s shirt pulling it up to his eye level. “Becaussse that was my angel. You attacked my angel.”

He could feel the demon shake beneath the handful of cloth he clutched onto. “I didn-I didn’t k-know Crowley, p-please no.”

“You hurt him,” Crowley hissed.

His canines lengthened, claws forming on his hands. Anger burned in his stomach hot like hellfire. Here was this tiny little demon shaking in his grip, he was the one who hurt his angel. “I did-didn’t mean to, he-he....” the demon stammered, then gasped, its eyes widening.

Crowley didn’t usually resort to violence, but he was a demon after all. He slowly drew back his hands, the sharp claws dripping black blood. The demon’s eyes rolled back and it dissolved into black dust. The blood that coated his hand flaked off into dust, blowing away in the wind. Crowley merely discorporated it, it would pop back down in Hell but would know not to mess with Crowley again. 

“Well now, that’s taken care of,” he muttered wiping his hand on his pants. 

He’d have to wash his hands first, there was always something gross about blood, very undemon like of Crowley, but he didn’t care. No one saw the exchange and time began to move again after he snapped his fingers. 

Now he was off to fetch crepes for his angel and maybe glue a few coins to the sidewalk, he did have a reputation to live up to.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice that it took him a bit longer to get back to the bookshop. His nose was stuck in a book, wings draped over the pillows. A cup of cocoa sat on the nightstand with a coaster underneath. “Got your crepes, chocolate your favorite,” Crowley said.

“Oh you are a dear,” Aziraphale said, then he sniffed. “Crowley, why do I smell sulfur?”

“Oh, you know, I stopped by for a bit of a temptation, uh,” Crowley replied, handing the crepe wrapped in paper to Aziraphale.

He’d washed his hands, but it apparently wasn’t enough. “You went after that demon.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Crowley sputtered out an excuse, only to see Aziraphale staring at him with a deadpan look on his face. “Fine, yes I hunted down the demon who hurt you and discorporated it. I couldn’t-I couldn’t let it out there on Earth when it hurt you.”

Aziraphale reached out and patted his hand. “Thank you.”

Crowley simply grumbled a frown on his face. “Sit down, do you want some cocoa?”

“No,” Crowley said sinking down into the chair he’d sat in while watching Aziraphale while he slept. 

Snapping his fingers, and a cup of espresso appeared in his hand. “I’m glad, they won’t be bothering us and I won’t have to worry about them coming after you.”

“It could come back, but only after hell issues it a new body and they don’t issue out bodies often,” Crowley said sipping the bitter drink. 

“Mmmm, still thank you.”

“Stop apologizing, angel.”

Aziraphale simply nodded and bit into his crepe, a happy little wiggle and smile appearing. “Since you’re going to be cooped up for a few days, I uh, I could ya know stay here with you,” Crowley said. 

Maybe spending a few days together wouldn’t be the worst thing. It could be worse. He could keep Aziraphale occupied and make sure his wings were healing properly. “Only if you want to my dear.”

“S’fine.”

The three days it took for Aziraphale’s wings to fully heal ended up turning into a week, and then two. Plants began to move into the bookshop, and a sketch that looked very much like the Mona Lisa hung at the top of the stairs to the flat above. An espresso machine appeared in the kitchen, coffee next to the cocoa mix. A vintage Bently started permanently parking in front of the bookshop and the occasional patron who could get inside the book sometimes noticed a large black snake sunning themselves on a sun patch amongst the books. 


End file.
